Nobody Lives Here Anymore
by IDStorymakers
Summary: In many cases, being reincarnated as the main protagonist's sibling sets up for a Mary Sue. This is not the case. This can't be a happy life. This rebirth contains the tale of obsession, of wishing to go home, of driving other's away and hiding yourself. It holds a destructive scheme that will eat them inside out, terror staining their every move. OC, dark. In need of betas.
1. Deadtime Flooding

**Hello everyone. Sensitive topics may be breached!**

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You know how all of these stories work? You die, you get stuck in some crazy anime world, you get some awesome powers, you change the storyline, you interact with the main protagonist, all that fun stuff. Fight for justice, save the world, etc, etc. Never once do they mention more than two seconds of your previous life.

I'm envious of them. Getting over your entire life like _snap! Oh, look, anime, who gives a shit about my family!_

I… can't do that. Having all your friends, your family, you life achievements, no matter how small they might be, taken away in a blink. That's it. No getting it back. It's like my whole existence has just been erased. Nobody knows you, and you don't know anyone else. It hurts.

Maybe there was a reason reincarnation usually didn't leave you with memories. Maybe there's a reason why you never could remember anything.

Not that I'll ever know. I hate this. This life, this world, this face of mine.

It's so fake. I want to shatter it, break it, because it's all just a cheap imitation of my real life.

The one that I want and need.

* * *

...

Death. Truly an all encompassing force, unable to be beaten by human forces. Aided by time, it destroys all, even worlds.

Even lives.

Humans are just... so trivial. So easy to kill. One accident, one mistake, and you're gone. One trick, one little trickle of time. Everything is gone. Just dead. It won't restart. Not really.

Then, there's the afterlife. People always wonder what's going to happen. There are whole beliefs based on it, too. Of higher powers, of higher places. Like Heaven… Like Hell.

Purgatory, Underworld, Paradise, Nirvana. There's always a different name, but it's always essentially the same concept. You die, then you go somewhere. If you've been good, you're rewarded, if you messed up sometime, you're punished. Either way, there's a cause and effect. You still have proof of your existence, because you must have done something to get that 'effect'. Maybe once you're punishment has been carried out you can go see your loved ones, if you had them. Or perhaps it will never end? Who knows. I certainly don't.

In comparison, Life. A blank slate, able to be turned into millions of things. Something fresh and clean and wonderful, don't you think? To breathe, to think, to hold your own thoughts, to be different. To be special, unique, someone else than the person next to you. To be able to learn from other's mistakes, to cry and laugh and just _feel._

Again, it's not always that easy, is it? People have expectations, problems, other's that place burdens upon your shoulders from day one. Others become mindless and addled sheep, brainless in thoughts of grandeur, losing whatever kindness they may have held. People lose the drive, lose the hope, from outside influences or maybe, just yourself. For better, or for worse, though, we're all just living, breathing, thinking, feeling. We're human. We affect others and ourselves with every breath we've ever taken, and will take. Our 'life' is reflected by the change in the life of others. Our whole existence is defined by what you do, the choices you've made, the path you've built.

I honestly don't know what I expected out of it all, though. Sure, life is all fun and good, but at the same time, possibilities are limited. It's a once-in-a-million chance to find something new, something that hasn't been done. At the same time, it's still better than death... the unknown, the scary, intimidating to even think about. Did whatever that was 'After" even exist? And if so, would I get one? I was firmly an Atheist in life (and death), however agnostic I was. What did that mean for someone like me? Eternal floating through a dark void? Feeling the rot eat away at my dead body for as long as I have meat on my bones? Becoming some kind of vengeful spirit, like in horror movies? I never tried to think about it, pessimistic person I was not. Still, the question ate away in the subconscious corner of my mind, making me wonder in dreary, darker days.

I only really found my answer the day my reality collapsed and everything turned into a

nightmare.

" _Congratulations, it's a girl!"_

Words? Muffled. Cold. Blurry. Hands. Sticky, wet. She tried not to cry, but her face scrunched up reflexively, confusion and fear and _panic_ welling up in her brain. As she drew in shuddering sobs, she tried to think back to her last memory, disoriented and half blind as she wailed.

 _Fire. Fire, the one thing she had feared, and apparently rightly so. The smoke, thick and nauseating, blocking her sight, her exit. Huddling in the corner as the roof fell in, unable to get out._

The thought only served to instill more fear, perhaps even anger, because _it didn't help and she was so, so useless._ The cold hands suddenly passed her to someone else, someone unfamiliar, a stranger, breathing heavily and exuding an air of weariness. Forcing her eyes open, (When had they been closed?) she saw a head of red and another of black, with some bluish-green blurs off to the side.

 _Red?_

 _That told her practically nothing!_ She thought hysterically through her tears, still confused and dazed and frankly, so terrified she could barely even breath. She could only hear things in a half-blocked sound, making her cry even harder. What had happened? Where was she?

Why couldn't she _move?_

As she screamed, flailing pathetically in someone's grasp, the red one seemed to gently rock her back and forth, holding her gently against their chest, muttering comforts that she _couldn't even understand_ and _barely even make out_ into her ears. Almost against her will, she calmed down, the influence feeling so very relaxing, warm.

 _But it wasn't right._

Gasping as she drew in breath, forgotten in her little terror tantrum, she forced herself to stop crying long enough to register where she was. Pushing down the panic, she made herself look around, focus.

She could feel arms, nestling her against someone's bosom. It was warm and chilly at once, and smelled just slightly like antiseptic, like hospitals and doctors. There were two large figures hovering at the edge of her vision. A pack of moving green.

She was _small._ She was a _child._ A newborn infant.

Feeling somewhat sick, She forced her hand to come into view. Small, pudgy, slightly wrinkled. Like a child. Hard to move at all. Helpless.

 _Well, I should be glad I'm still a girl._ She thought dryly, a numbingly empty feeling welling up inside.

 _So sick and alone and I want my parents._

The rest of a trip was a daze, staring off into space as she tried to sleep, tried to relax, tried to calm down that agonizing dread in her stomach.

 _Where was home?_

She was forced to wait a long, boring six months as her hearing and sight finally developed enough to make head or heels of the where she was. Her new "Mom" and her new "Dad" seemed almost... familiar, in a sense. Someone she had seen her previous life? Maybe she could go back. Maybe she could go home. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Until then, she could work around the dysphoria that hung around her, homesickness at it's highest, the wrong name. _Nori_ , they said. She'd bear it, if it meant she could go back.

How utterly, crushingly wrong that thought would turn out to be.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. An infant's life was ever the dull one. The constant need to sleep, the inability to lift your head, the general lack of coordination, size, strength… She could go on and on. In the meantime, she thought. She thought, and sometimes, dreamed. About before, about herself, about what she had been. What she was.

 _Her name was not Nori. Her name was Jeanmarie Jiao Yan. She had lived in America, in the state of Oregon. She lived in the suburbs with a sibling, who never really shut up and was also a bit too cheerful. Her mother was strict and was a skilled cook. Her father was extremely athletic and loved dragging them all on hiking trips. She had two friends, Lily and Charlotte. She loved drawing, and enjoyed writing as a side-project. She hated maths and science. She did well in school. People called her Marie. Others still called her 'Yam', because Lily had misspelled it when they first got their phones. She liked video games and any kind of music. She enjoyed anime to a small extent. She tried playing the flute, but gave up after a year._

 _She had died at the tender age of fifteen._

One problem, she realized early on, was the language. Japanese, to be specific. Babies were definitely much more adaptable than a full grown adult, especially in the speech section.

Unfortunately, she was a fifteen year old inside an infant's body, and while she was better off than, say, her mother, but she had only so much knowledge of Japanese from random videos and animes and that one half-hearted class in school. She was a native English speaker, and could speak and read (not write) Mandarin to some extent, but Hiragana and Katakana? Not at all.

She tried to learn, tried to pick it up, but it never settled in. It felt awkward and clumsy on her tongue, and never came out just right. She could only recognize that the character looked 'kind of familiar' but not read it. She had a thick accent, and it was terrible because it wasn't English or Chinese and she _missed_ hearing, deep down to her soul.

(Maybe she really didn't try too hard, because with every word she managed to understand, she hated herself more, for ignoring what was _right_ and learning what was _wrong._ )

It's not a problem for a while, since she's forced to wailing her head off for a year, but as soon as she hits the 18 month mark, she's sent off to a speech therapist for help. The dull sessions make something dark and bitter curl up in her stomach. She had skilled with words that came easily before, the highest grades in her record. Still, it helped, although she carried an accent until the end of her days. She liked it that way. It was a reminder of herself, her _reality_ , not this fake life.

Not this fake body of hers.

Nowadays, her hair was a light orange-russet, a glaring comparison to her original black. Thankfully, her eyes were still their dark brown, practically black, but that was about it. Tan skin turned pale. Narrowed eyes widened. Small nose became sharper and larger. (From a spitting image of her father to a spitting image of the mother) The differences were glaring.

She hated them all.

To be honest, it took her a pitifully long time to recognize where she even was. Two years, to be exact. First, there were the small clues. People who nobody else saw, a strange man with a striped hat. The new family name, a word that had been repeated over and over. Orange hair. Masaki. Black hair. Isshin. Karakura.

Coincidence, coincidence, coincidence. Always nothing but a coincidence.

Until it wasn't.

A boy, they said. Ichigo, they said.

 _Ichigo Kurosaki._

Her mouth moved soundlessly, tripping over unsteady feet. Pulling herself up, and then being carried by strong arms. Looking over the edge of the bed to see a sleeping infant.

An anime character. An _anime character._

That was a new level of mental mindfuckery that she hadn't considered yet.

She was Nori Kurosaki, mistake with memories she shouldn't have, in a world that shouldn't exist.

It wasn't even a storyline she knew that well.

Her first breakdown was a few days after they took the baby home. After a few hours of staring at the main goddamn protagonist sitting in a baby crib, night fell, and the sickening knot that had permeated her chest loosened _._

Everything was gone. Everything was dead and gone and gonegone _gone._ Replaced with this poor excuse of a universe. One where she shouldn't, by all accounts, even be breathing. A mistake of a mistake. She was just the acne of creation, wasn't she? This place was a story, with set lines and she was not one of them.

Still, she comforted herself with happier thoughts, because Nori (Jeanmarie, not Nori, never) was not one to give up easily. She could have kickass shinigami powers, right? Carefully, she cared for "her" sibling, making sure that they would grow into the central protagonist he was destined to be, carefully making sure her interference would not, say, destroy the world. She'd write down everything she knew about the place, hide it away.

She took care of him for a while, patient and quiet. It hurt. They were so similar to her own brother. Jeanmarie was never violent, nor loud, nor insulting. The perfect sister.

(The perfect stranger.)

This wasn't _her_ brother. Just ink on paper, one she was somehow living with. Days wore on, pretending that this could actually work, that these people were her family, that this wasn't just a dream. That she wasn't a mistake, wasn't a imposter in a fairy tale.

" _Look at your grades this year!" Her mother's horrified voice came to hearing range. Slowly breathing out a sigh from her nose, she steeled herself to a long and torturous rant on her school life. She preferred talking to her friends, not caring about this grading system that her parents put weight into._

"Look at your grades this year! You're just a little progeny, aren't you!" Masaki smiled at her (No, she smiled at _Nori_ , not her) and Jeanmarie grinned back painfully. At least, she reflected, she didn't actually have to sit through all of elementary. No, she just skipped two grades and went straight to third, and even then it was all boring. The only challenge was her reading and language grade. The dark and bitter feeling in her stomach grew. To her eyes, her classmates were so awfully underdeveloped, so utterly immature and idiotic. She had been the same, not too long ago, and she wondered how she herself could have stood it at all.

She started writing her memories down.

 _Tapping her pencil on her desk, she sighed, wracking her brain for information. She had only ever read the manga, and really, she didn't pay too much attention to much of it. It was much too long and eventually got boring, with random power ups at every turn._

 _Things I remember:_

 _ **-** Ichigo was fifteen when it happened. Hollow busts into house, Rukia stabs him._

 _ **-** Chains and hollows?_

 _ **-** Keigo can see spirits, Orihime uses hair barrettes, Chad has some kind of power for his arms, Ishida is a Quincy, Tatsuki can see, Yuzu can see, Karin can see, Isshin was a shinigami, Masaki is a Quincy._

 _ **-** Ichigo has way too much energy. Can't control it, huge zanpakuto thing, no magic._

 _ **-** Rukia get's kidnapped, wish stones, Urahara is a banished guy for something, Yoruichi was banished with him, Byakuya is a bit of a prick, Hisana dies, Renji is some guy in love with Rukia, something about Ichigo and hollows. Executions, fire chicken/phoenix. Ukitake, Someone with a pink kimono with games._

 _ **-** Something happens and Arrancar ranked 10 and up comes from Huenco Mundo. Gin is a double traitor, Rukia get's stabbed or something to get the wish stone, Aizen is a traitor, Yamamoto get's his arm stabbed off, Hinamori is brainwashed. Something about a weirdo obsessed with justice and least bloodshed with a dog-guy._

 _ **-** Mugetsu and losing his powers, year-skip, Fullbrings, some guy and memories. Ywach and stealing sword-powers. Ishida pulls some double-double stabbing. They fight a lot of stuff._

 _ **-** People I know names of but not anything else: Hitsugaya (Ice?), Matsumoto, Kenpachi, Unohana, Ikakku._

 _She chewed on the eraser, trying to pick through her blurry memories, berating herself for not paying enough attention. She was confident she could recognize them if she saw them, but she didn't dare draw picture. If someone read this… She didn't need pictures._

 _"Couldn't I just... Tell them?" Jeanmarie sighed, setting her pencil down, "Wouldn't it be so,_ so _much easier?"_

 _It would. But when she thought about it..._

 _She was already next to the person the whole world practically revolved around. It wasn't far fetched at all that Soul Society would hear about her. And Aizen, as well as Ywach, could easily hear about her. Urahara? Better, but..._

 _"No... I have to remove myself from this place. Only then I'll be able to be safe, and find a way to go home."_

It went on. Painful reminders of her family, pretending not to be an intruder, hoping that nobody would discover that she was nothing but a mistake that really shouldn't be here.

 _Then again, what did it matter? These people weren't even_ real.

Things really started moving when the twins were born, snapping her out of her repetitive daze at age eight.

Jeanmarie kicked her feet awkwardly in the hard, uncomfortable hospital waiting chair. Masaki was currently having kids. Probably the twins, since she really, really doubted that her involvement in anything would change the process in which they did... things like that. Still, she was better off than Isshin and the kid currently sobbing next to her. Isshin was pacing and almost wearing a hole in the floor. _You'd expect that after two times, he'd be more used to the thing,_ she snorted.

Hours and hours and dull hours later, they were finally let in. She walked in slowly as the other two dashed in, scared and excited in a place where she knew what would happen. She stopped at the doorway, while the other two practically rushed in sobbing.

Such a perfect family scene. Masaki seemed tired, but greeted them with a small smile. Isshin was already hovering around them, flustering around. Ichigo was still crying, except he was next to his mother. She hung back until Masaki noticed, "Come see your new sisters!" An encouraging smile, and she slowly obliged, feeling like such an intruder, because she really wasn't who they thought she was.

Karin.

Yuzu.

Staring into the eyes of the two little girls, They looked up, so small and innocent in a way that jarred her awake from her petty dreams. This life would never be like before. It was finally just too different to salvage at all, wasn't it? She was just an intruder, a stranger in an unknown family. She smiled up at her legal guardian, asking for their names.

 _But she already knew._

* * *

 **In which I try something new. This won't be your usual SI-OC (Technically not, but eh) No, this will be experiment number 401, where I delve into the psycological effects of being removed from a familiar enviroment.**

 **Also, this story may have some triggers in the future, like depression, alcoholism, drug use, and similar. Please refrain from reading if you are sensitive towards such subjects. Thank you!**

 **Please R &R!**

 **I'm looking for a Beta reader, too!**


	2. Summer Drownings

**Three reviews? Holy shit, that's exciting!**

 **Warnings for this chapter: Detailed violence.**

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Time continued moving, sluggishly in a way that made her antsy, fidgety, _nervous_ in a way she had never felt before. As days passed, she quietly retreated into her room, avoiding the outside world as much as she could while avoiding suspicion. Of course, this wasn't particularly effective. There wasn't much to do as a nine-year-old, especially not as one who has a 10th grader inside of their brain.

So, one hot summer day, sun still high in the air, she quietly slipped on her shoes and snuck outside.

The heat was glaring, and waves from the street made the sky look like the sea, and it was humid, humid in a way she had never felt before. She hated it too, because it felt like moving through a swimming pool, and even this inked-over horizon wanted her to regret and remember.

 _Oregon was cool, rainy. Next to the sea and never snowed, but always raining. The smell of fish and dry air, dark green trees that stood out against grey clouds. Temperatures that were only ever in the 80s, at the most. Forested land everywhere, wetlands always fenced off. Cold air and chilled drops, so unlike the terribly freezing winters and suffocatingly hot summers._

A fly flew past her face as she wandered around town, taking every which turn, a challenge to see if she could run away from its numbness, tear away from the reminders of what she had lost and what they were mimicking.

The same birds that flew overhead, the same families that laughed, the same houses that held precious lives, and when she blinked, sweating, she swore she could have turned around, run back, and found her own house, signature red door shining brightly.

 _She never could._

* * *

Year ten came and went.

It was a boring, aching, brain-numbing, agonizing year, of just sitting around and hiding, of doing nothing but watch time trudge on, questioning every day.

Her birthdays passed. Both of them. She hated the one they celebrated, and mourned the one she ignored.

Even such a unchanging date was different now. The typical song held the same tune, the same voices, and yet…

It made her want to gouge out her eardrums, just to stop hearing it.

 _She wanted to go home._

Ichigo, now eight, had started taking karate classes. He cried every time he lost, and he tried to cling to her, like he didn't get the idea the she didn't want to see him. Ichigo, who expected her to be someone who she was not. Ichigo, who didn't know that Jeanmarie had already killed his sister, even before he was born. Before she was born.

 _Not that it mattered. They're only ink, and the only thing you need to worry about is survival._

Jeanmarie merely shut the door in his face, probably sending him into another fit of self-righteous tears. That, of course, caused Masaki and Isshin to go into a small lecture about playing nice. She complied. She did owe them. They were housing a stranger comfortably inside their own house for a long period of time, even if they didn't know. She didn't want to raise any alarms, anything that could notify anyone of her abnormality, of her thievery and treachery.

(Any more than she had to, of course)

Karin and Yuzu were two years of age, small and innocent and anomalistic, because she never had any sisters, and of course not twins. The unknown, the unthought of, the constant and definite statement that this just couldn't be her world.

Sometimes, if they weren't around, she could almost, maybe, possibly, just by chance, think that she could live like this. Masaki was kind, so very warm, and soft in a way that made her feel fuzzy inside. Isshin was louder, energetic, enthusiastic, yet still gentle in a very odd way. Ichigo smiled all the time, bright and happy, like his hair, which was impossibly orange in a way that looked definitely dyed. (Ten years were a long time, after all, and maybe she was lowering her wariness just a bit too much)

She could protect them, couldn't she? Save and help and guard them from things that were going to happen, stop them from hurting.

Nori ( _No, wait, please, don't you dare call yourself such a repulsive name-_ ) sighed, settling down with a yawn, sandwiched between the three. It felt...nice, like she was surrounded by people she could trust, people who would take care of her, people who loved her. Like she was protected. People who were her family.

A cry rang out from the room of the twins.

 _People who were her family? What a joke. Do you even know what you're suggesting? Do you know you're saying that that you've given up? Given up on your mother, who cared for you, your father, who loved you, your sibling , who you hated, but at the same time, didn't. Your grandparents, your aunts, uncles, friends, achievements, memories._

 _How dare you._

Stiffening, Jeanmarie ( _The right name, not the one that tried to smother her)_ slowly opened up her eyes, sleepiness washed away by a wave of cold tying up her stomach and her spine. Carefully untangling herself, she tip-toed away, glancing over her shoulder for a second before she walked down the hall, peeking in through the doorway, walking in. As a scent of milk and baby powder invaded her nose, Jeanmarie peered into the cradle, slightly illuminated by the nightlight.

Karin and Yuzu slowly stopped crying, starting to notice her, just a bit. They peered up at her under thick eyelashes, eyes black and dark and innocent, new life. Gentle and doe-like. Young and impressionable.

 _How could she?_

The knot in her stomach tightened up to her chest, something dark and bitter and cold wrapping its hands around her throat, cutting off her air flow, suffocating her as stared at the small infants, wrapped around in softness and feathery light. Just the thought of _abandoning her life-_

 _How_ could _she?_

The numbing hands around her chest eased as a muffled, covered-over keening squeezed out, tears starting to gather as she looked away from the crib, only moving her hand to cover her eyes. She attempted to bite back her tears, gripping the rail with force that turned her knuckles white. As she ground her teeth down, looking away, she caught sight of a nightstand mirror, and blurry sight only barely registered red and brown before she _choked._

She wanted to see her face, her own tanned skin and black hair. She wanted it so badly and it hurt like something was tearing at her chest and squeezing it so tight she couldn't breathe, because it was so unrealistic and she wanted to tear this skin of her _offoffoff get it off it's choking her it's not her get it off-_

 _This wasn't her home, this wasn't her parents, how could she even think of betraying them like this? Giving them up for a fantasy world that wasn't even real, giving them up for a face and a life that she stole, if it was supposed to exist at all? Just accepting that she would never ever see them again, and oh_ god _could she still even remember their face?_

 _(Ten years such a long time, too long and yet, too short)_

What felt like forever passed, staring into the small, insignificantly tiny mirror. That reflection that wasn't hers, the picture of the wrong face. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she uncurled her numb fingers, leaving imprints on the soft wood with her nails. That revulsion at her own skin receded, and the tears stopped flowing, just for a second.

Just another minute.

Just another.

Minutes would turn into hours, hours into days, days into years.

She'd keep it this way.

 _She would never, ever make that mistake again._

Her slip-ups only proved to make her more guarded, detached, and yet another year later, she could clearly say that she held no more attachment to this group surrounding her.

How could she so _blatantly_ say such a lie, when she was the one smiling? Smiling as the world crashed down for the ones who raised her, as the sun shone down in an unnatural, unfitting heat and cheerful blue sky, contrasted so brightly from the black they all wore and mourned in?

She grinned, truly and brightly, as the center of their world died.

Jeanmarie was only so disgusted at herself, because in all honesty, she was only relieved and nothing more, thankful in a way that would make herself retch in hate if it was anyone _real._

 _Unfortunately for everyone else, they're not._

They weren't real, of course. Only puppets dancing to a set storyline, where she was the only sentient being. Nothing here was real. Nothing was real at all.

And that's what she told herself, incense releasing a thick pungency into the air, and the orange-haired lady disappeared, dead by a hollow, because someone took away her powers.

 _Not real._

She watched from the back as the prayers were read, ceremony ended, tears shed. She watched, only just keeping her smile off her face, because appearances were needed, of course.

And that, she told herself, was that.

She wouldn't have to worry about reminders anymore.

(Because She was the nicest, the most like her real mother, the one that cared for her, the one that instinctively felt right to this body, and now that It was gone, It was only one reminder less.)

 _When she saw Isshin pathetically attempt to make up for It's smiles and love and emptiness, she could only laugh, hate herself and laugh. The orange-haired child's smiles fades, the youngest child even attempted to take over their parent's chores, and the spectator sees it as a play, clapping slowly._

 _Jeanmarie beamed._

The days following were surprisingly easy. She didn't have to think of It, and in turn, she didn't have to worry about replacing her mother.

It was so easy, in fact, that she found she could actually focus more clearly, talk more smoothly, care less with every passing hour. She only hated herself so much, and she shoved it down, over and over.

She threw herself into her schoolwork, easily zooming over her pitiful peers, and that's how life became.

Jeanmarie waited.

And waited.

 _And waited._

Time ticked on.

Puberty, by far, was one of the worst years. With it, came growth spurts, the re-arrival of periods, massive hormone uptake, bodily development, and other, irritating things. Her emotions skyrocketed, confidence plummeted, and there was nothing she could do about it. There was nothing she could do about the facts that her skin felt wrong, and she hated mirrors with a vengeance. There was nothing she could do, except keep her eyes steadily off of reflective surfaces, pretend there wasn't anything wrong. That no, she didn't want to just claw off her own skin, because that would be seen as mad, and no, she didn't hate her siblings, and definitely wasn't trying to avoid Ichigo.

She sees spirits clearly, but ignores them completely, because they were a fairy tale inside of a fictional story, and she couldn't even get herself to ponder the fact that they could think for themselves.

Stress builds.

(She was going to snap sometime, and she could only hope she could fix it.)

The day comes sooner than later.

She was fifteen, and in high school, grade twelve (Finally something new, for once. She hated repeats, so much.) Ichigo was twelve, and the girls were eight. It had started as a usual, typical day, with a empty haze that lasted throughout the whole time. She threw herself into books, brushed off her 'peers', wrote her answers. Winter was rearing it's head, and the leaves were gone and the chill soaked her down to the bones. Her mind wandered often, and she always, always repeated her motto.

 _This is fake._

And then, once again, reality decided to show it's face.

She was walking home, alone as usual, siblings in their own school. They crossed paths at the soccer field, where she always ended up picking them up sooner or later.

It was her chore, she decided, for living with them. Not that they knew. They only thought she was being a responsible sibling, kind and patient and smarter than normal for her age. Those words brought a grimace to her face, because they were only ever talking to this... skin she wore. The one she had ruthlessly killed and stolen.

She was slowly making her way home, when the field came into view, and with it, shouting reached her ears. Shouting, crying, fighting. Her feet quickened involuntarily, and soon she was running into the sight of a brawl. More correctly, a standoff. Orange hair bobbed indignantly, yelling at the top of his puny (oh, so puny, she could break it) voice, protectively hunched over, stained with dirt and mud and other things, glaring with a fierce scowl on his face. Two children, a brunette and a black-haired one, sat on the ground behind, one crying into another's arms, fear flashing in their wide eyes, flinching at every yell. They only just noticed her, and she could make out their lips form her name.

Bullies. Gangs. Mindless sheep following blindly, a wolf. By whatever name they were known by, it seems they existed in any universe. They fed off the torment of others, controlled by fear, caused pain and strife and anger. Ruined lives, shunned others. How they became such unacceptable beings, unknown, but they were despicable.

 _They were nothing._

Jeanmarie sighed, walking down the slope of the hill onto the dusty brown earth, making her in between. (Trust them to cause trouble for her, when she didn't even have any obligation at all). She approached, and she noticed that the opposing side barely cowered away. only driven on by her appearance, although she was older by at least a year. They kept on mocking, shouting, and still, she stood, staring.

 _bitter anger and hate choked her, and she stared._

"What, have to hide behind your sister?"

"Wow, that's so wimpy!"

"Wimp!"

"Weakling!"

"Weak!"

Weak.

Ichigo stood, looking up at her.

"What, you too scared to say anything?"

Karin watched, scared and tired and so fearful, the grey sky reflecting clearly on black eyes.

"You're stupider than I thought!"

Yuzu sobbed, crying and crying over such a thing.

 _Weak._

The numbing haze that had been holding her broke, and the _thing,_ dark and bitter and so, so hateful of that word (She wasn't weak, how dare they ever say it, they had no _right,_ the fake little things-they weren't even real.) It rose up, malice and hate for everything that had ever _existed_ , and she could barely breath for a moment because she was furious. It swept over her in a red mist, and the heady feeling that came with it almost seemed to make the world look clearer than it had ever done before.

She watched the bullies. She heard their taunting. She saw her replacements.

Jeanmarie made her choice.

 _The boy barely had time to react. The girl, frozen in fear a moment ago, moved forward slowly, eyes blank and dull and ugly in a way that made a chill run down his spine. They walked up to him, until they were standing chest to chest. Shaking away the sudden bead of cold sweat that had appeared, he sneered, bearing down on her with an intimidating grin. "What, wanna fight? You'll ge-Ghhk-"_

 _He had seen them reach up, watched them grab, frozen, frozen, frozen, because of that sudden fearfearterror and it was loose and oh god he needed to_ move-

 _An ice-cold grip throttled him, suffocating him, and he couldn't get them off, a vice-grip clenching tightly-too tightly, and he couldn't breath. "Gh-Le-" He flailed uselessly, hands and feet kicking out in panic, catching the owner of those, ugly, ugly eyes in the stomach, but still, those hands wouldn't let go. Mouth opening and closing, eyes bugging out frantically, panic and fear and terror and ohgodsavehim, he was dying and those eyes and icy hands wouldn't let go and his vision slowly faded, and strangled screaming broke the air, his dull thoughts barely registering it was his._

 _With a soft thump, his hands fell to his sides, struggles starting to cease, and the last thing he saw before his eyes rolled up was a smile, dark and ugly and then-_

 _"NO!"_

 _-Sweet, sweet air, he breathed in and out with a cough, and he hacked as his eyes flew open again, spit flowing down his chin and throat burning. He sucked in air, sobbing and hunched over on the ground. Suddenly, sour, burning bile rose up, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. with a retch, a thick vomit splurted through his fingers sloppily, dripping down in a chunky mess. Regurgitating his stomach out onto the ground, tears streaming down his cheeks as he slumped on the ground. His friends had run away long ago, looking for help. As he breathed in shuddering gasps of air, lying limply on the floor, he glanced up._

Dead eyes. Dead, empty, remorseless eyes, so ready to kill him again and again and again.

 _Screaming, screaming, screaming until his voice cracked, scrambling back, curling onto himself-Terror and fear and tears wracked his frame, blubbering apology falling over and over from his lips._

Jeamarie stared at her hands, somewhat wet from the disgusting saliva that had fallen out of the boy's mouth. The one in question has cryng pathetically on the floor, behind-

Ichigo.

They panted, fear causing their heart to race in an obvious speed, because who wouldn't be terrified if they saw their sibling almost kill a child in front of them, eyes wide.

"What are you doing!?" A shrill voice sounded from his throat, cracking. She looked on, impassive now. "You almost killed them! Just because they were bullying us didn't mean you had to choke them! How-"

"Shut up." Wiping her hand on her skirt, she shouldered her pack again (when had it fallen off?) "I didn't do it because of you."

"Wh-"

"I said to shut your mouth, didn't I? I don't care whether they're bullying you or not. They're right. You're weak."

The silent tension grew. Ichigo's arms, originally spread wide, as if that would, could stop her from attacking again, if she did, slowly fell to his sides. As wind blew by, even Yuzu had stopped crying, eyes screwed up and rolled into a ball, as if that would stop the sight of Jeamarie choking a kid to death. The pitiful mess scrambled to his feet and fled, almost tripping over their own feet. Karin clutched onto her sister tightly, hands almost claws as she buried the other's head into her chest.

Jeanmarie broke the tension, taking a deep breath before turning around to walk to the road. "Let's go. We're late."

 _Why would it matter, even if she had killed them?_

 _They weren't real humans._

 _It didn't matter._

And with those thoughts, she fell asleep relatively soundly that night, loathing herself only so much more.

* * *

 **Fourteen years of mourning can change a person.**

 **Honestly, I see this much like an 'Undertale Effect'. You don't see taking the Genocide Route as wrong, not really, because they aren't really alive. You only see this as a game, so you can soundly kill monsters without worrying.**

 **Jeanmarie is slowly falling apart at her seams. She's been trying to remember her family for years, and she's gradually becoming a monster.**


	3. Loneliness Thrashing

***Slowly drowns happily under a large number of reviews* 7 reviews in one chapter? Holy shit, everyone! Thank you so much!**

 **Italics in speech are usually English.**

* * *

Of course, her little… incident was not without consequence. Large consequence. Rumors spread quickly. She could feel eyes on her now, every minute of every day. Careful observance for erratic behavior, even if the watcher themselves did not know. Eyes burning holes into the back of her neck, turning around the minute she noticed. It was infuriating. She could only count herself fortunate for not earning a true punishment. After all, it was an exemplary student's word against a few failing brats, with a history of bullying, too. And, of course, Karakura was not particularly known for the best security.

Publicity aside, her caretaker was furious. She had never seen Isshin seem so angry. Disappointed, even. His soft voice told her everything about his mood. It made her want to cower into the ground, beg for forgiveness, promise that she would never do such a terrible act again. Jeanmarie hated those feelings, because _they_ had no right to lecture her, make her feel so low. (It was despicable, really, how this mind and body of hers reacted to such a fake father figure.)

 _To be truthful, he really didn't seem as angry about the fight, compared to what she had said before they had left._

Isshin terrified her. And she hated it.

"I didn't raise you to do things like that, Nori." Those sad, disappointed black eyes, somewhat angry, struck a chord in her chest, and she shoved down those _feelings_ that came up. She kept her eyes glued firmly to the ground. (You didn't raise me at all.) "You didn't nearly have to do something so drastic, and saying such a thing to your siblings was _unacceptable_. You might have been provoked, but that's no reason to do something like that."

Jeanmarie kept her mouth shut, refusing to answer, forcing that feeling of _disappointment_ into anger. _How dare he? How could he know anything about it? He wasn't even there. This was unfair. He doesn't know anything. He wasn't even real. She didn't have to feel so-_

Why was she so angry?

As if Isshin read her petulant, unrepentant, mood, his eyes darkened, voice rising, standing up from his chair, looming over her. "Do you understand the extent of what you've done? You almost killed the boy!" He thundered, and Jeanmarie flinched, digging her nails into her fists.

Cold sweat dripped down her neck.

She was terrified of Isshin, and she knew it.

The dark-haired man was still shouting, but she couldn't focus, Japanese merging into unintelligible yelling, tension and panic making her way up her spine. Her eyes were still fixed firmly at her feet, refusing to look up, because she was sure his face would be monstrous.

" _Nori!"_ From the corner of her eyes, she saw a rustle of fabric, and the terror exploded. Flinching violently, she stumbled back, hands automatically jerking up, eyes squeezing shut as she cowered away, shiver running up her spine as her body reacted. The flight and fight instinct swept over her, and she could only just stop herself from falling down.

 _This wasn't Mother or Father. The stranger is yelling at her, looming over her, and she's scared, no, terrified, because she can't understand them, and they won't hold back, a threat, a danger, something that can and will hurt her-_

( _-runawayrunawayrun_ away)

It takes a few moments, but her panic pauses, there's no pain, and she knows that it was just a false alarm. The yelling had stopped, too, and Isshin is quiet, for once. Pale, she straightened up, stiff and and ashamed and just a bit fearful.

It's silent, and she let's out a small, stifled gasp that seems to shudder in the air..

Jeanmarie risks a glance up, and oddly, it's Isshin that seems the most surprised. The tension goes on, and eventually, the man quietly leaves.

 _Pathetic,_ Her subconscious supplies, even when it's clearly just as scared.

* * *

Along with Isshin's new trained eyes following her, Ichigo won't speak to her, Yuzu is scared of her, and Karin actively seems to avoid her. It lasts, until summer warmth reared it's head.

She doesn't mind. It gives her more privacy to do things. She doesn't have to think about it anymore.

If there is something the whole thing teaches her, it's a few invaluable lessons.

First, the ability to control herself, even in such situations, was crucial to learn.

Second, the amount of attention she had wrought herself was already much too severe.

Thirdly, to survive in this world, you must be _weak._

If you show a sign of power, rebellion, a highly definitive strength, be it physical, or mental, the world would definitely focus its attention upon you. Soul Society would definitely notice, the weight of the universe's stability would shift to her, and she would be responsible for things she could never even care about. She had forgotten, in her reckless, thoughtless, idiotic move, that she _needed_ to stay low, needed to keep quiet, couldn't interfere with the story, for the survival of general humanity, for herself. She had forgotten, and paid her price. Attention would clearly be kept on her, and she would risk upheaval.

 _She had to be weak._

(She hated it.)

And as she sat on hot, heated porches, she could only feel cold. So, so cold. Jeanmarie wanted to go home. Home. What an odd concept, now. Was it just delirium? Was her whole life just a dream? Would she never go back?

 _What was the point?_

She was trapped in circles with clocks that had stopped in time. Just a soul that turned into a mistake, stuck in a place that burned her up from inside. She hated it all. If she could make this Hell of hers freeze over, it would be so much better. Here she sat, barely blinking in the stinking heat. Still, the sun blazed. Still, the rain fell. Still, this fake, imaginary cage of hers locked her in, away from everyone and everything she had loved.

"Nori, do you want some melons?"

" _Jeanmarie, do you want some apples?"_

She hated melons.

(I want to run away)

Deathday anniversaries were the worst, she decided a few months later. Taking the time to climb a mountain to see a grave… it was annoying, at the least. And to visit _It's_ grave, no less.

How useless. Climbing this hill once a year, maybe more, for something as idiotic as this.

"Hurry up, Nori! Stop lagging!'

Quickening her pace, she stepped up over roots and jogged, rushing to catch up with the people she had almost lost sight of in her thoughts. She sighed slightly as the entrance of the graveyard appeared, white stone slightly marred by time. "Yes, I'm here."

 _The first day, it was actually… hard to adjust to the lack of matter._

 _And then it was just what it was. Empty space._

 _Jeanmarie yawned, crawling out of her bed slowly. Peering through the sunlit hall, she found it strangely… lacking. Odd. Usually, Isshin would be running around already, and Yuzu and Karin would be doing something loudly. She quietly descended the stairs, making her way into the living room._

 _Ah._

 _She had forgotten._

 _A small picture of a woman stood on the table, the smoke and scent of grief plunging the room into darkness._

 _She stared at the picture._

Jeanmarie bent her head in tired formality, rolling her eyes in her head. This was such a waste of time. To pray to such spirits was worthless, especially now. They were dead and gone and dust, useless and lifeless.

And damn her if the world wasn't a better place.

 _And damn her she hated herself for thinking so._

 _(But she couldn't, couldn't bring herself to care, couldn't do anything but_ hate.)

Ichigo was glaring at the floor, Yuzu was starting to sniffle, and even Isshin looked minorly serious. Karin was clearly trying to keep her composure, but wasn't particularly succeeding. She could only be glad, she supposed, that everyone was too caught up in their idiotic grief of theirs (for someone fake, no less) to notice the lack of hers. Think of the _fuss_ that would cause, when a child showed not a care for someone who had raised them. A dark, dark thought.

 _Then again, this was a dark world, wasn't it?_ They stayed still for a few more minutes, before the group started splitting up, Karin escorting Yuzu away, Ichigo tagging along. Isshin turned to leave a bit later.

Jeanmarie stayed behind. This wasn't uncommon, and Isshin barely glanced behind, gesturing for her to stay as long as she liked. He thought she was mourning, no doubt. _What would he think if he saw her thoughts?_ She pondered this for a while, eyes fixed on the white gravestone. Would they shun her? Be repulsed? Abandon her? What would they do?

...What would _she_ do?

She hummed thoughtfully, dragging her gaze up to the sky. Clearing her throat, she dragged her suddenly-dry tongue across her cracked lips. " _Hello."_ She began, English pouring out of her lips. Pausing, she coughed into her fist (No, she didn't want to change, she didn't-) "Hello. I hope you're doing well up there. I hope you're not hurting and you're well cared for." She pursed her lips, something starting to burn in her throat, that cold, bitter coil around her gut tightening with every word.

It was too risky. People were, are, still around, people could still be eavesdropping. She shouldn't, she really shouldn't. She shouldn't. She had decided herself, after all, that her best bet was to be weak and detached and never, ever, strong, because that's what would let her survive.

At that thought, that knot in her stomach suddenly felt like it _burst_ into flames, anger and hate that she _still had to hide like this, she wanted homehomehome not this trickery and ink and paper._

(So she did it.)

" _Hello. I am Jeanmarie Jiao Yan, and I've been living in your daughter's body for the past fifteen years. I've been trapped in this living hell for the past decade, and I hate it. I hate you. I was happy when you died, you replacement."_

Jeanmarie's voice started as a whisper, a trickle of the rage, and then-

-And then it wouldn't stop, vision running red with that angry, angry _hate_ that ran rivers out of her mouth, shooting forward like it could break and shatter that white, paper stone.

" _You think I'd actually_ care _whether you were dead or not? You're nothing but ink and paper! You don't even have free will. 'Masaki'? What a fucking_ joke. _That's barely a name that some author decided to give his character. I'm the only person here. Not you, not 'Isshin', not those_ things _that think I'm their actual sister."_ She snorted, " _I killed this Nori a long time ago. Not that she was even supposed to exist. Her? I probably damned her soul to hell, or whatever that exists. I'm not your daughter, you sick_ fuck!"

Jeanmarie's rage roared, that bloody red fire covering her sense, and her eyes burned with salt. She wanted something to hurt, something to punch, something to curse and hate and burn. She wanted something, anything, to hurt and maim and _feel exactly the same way_ because she was sick and tired and wanted to go _home._

(She ignored the tears, because they were weak and damn her if she would let herself be so now.)

" _I bet this is all just a game to you, just watching me try to do this! I just want to go home, okay!? I can't stand your fake names and compliments! You're only ever talking to Nori, but none of you even know that I already killed her! I don't want you! I want_ my _mom! I want_ my _dad! I want everything in this world to burn and die!"_

" _I want my brother back!"_

" _I want my life back!"_

" _Why did it have to be me?"_

" _Just stop already."_

" _I hope you're suffering up there."_

" _Just… Let me_ go, _already_."

And then _they_ were there, and she struggled and hit and screamed bloody hell, but she couldn't move because they were _choking strangling killing_ her, wrapped around her neck and legs until she couldn't move. As her face was buried into someone's chest, someone who smelled like smoke and antiseptic and _not home,_ as the wrong name was spoken again and again, she could only cry.

Cry, because this was the wrong person. Cry because this wasn't who she wanted. Scream and yell and break, because she was so, so angry and hated them all, because she was tired and just wanted to sleep.

Jeanmarie couldn't even bring herself to care anymore about blowing her cover, because she just wanted to leaveleave _leave_ and never come back to this again.

( _Let me go home.)_

 _..._

Isshin is tearing apart.

His daughter is quietly fading, and he thinks. He can see it in every choice she makes, in every word she speaks. She's locking herself into a prison, and it's hurting her, just as it hurts him. Maybe he hadn't noticed, _chosen_ not to notice, but as her form turns away and she flinches, just because he crossed his arms, it's like it slaps him across the face.

" _..." He doesn't say anything, because he doesn't have anything to say, not anymore._

The face she wore was terrified, and he doesn't know what to do, because his own daughter is afraid of him, and he's never raised a hand against her, never needed to, never would. As he stands there, frozen at the sudden, telling movement, he can tell that she doesn't trust him, not at all.

 _Had she ever? he thinks, curling his arms tighter around her, ignoring the way she thrashed recklessly, broken words cracking through her._

The next few nights are stiflingly awkward, and Nori stonily ignores him and Ichigo, Yuzu and Karin, and he doesn't know what to say. How could he, when he couldn't even come to terms with the facts?

His daughter was scared of him.

 _His own daughter hated him. Even as she calmed down, she was stiff, so stiff, untrusting, scared._

 _(And he didn't know why.)_

Ichigo hated his sister.

 _He hated himself, he decided, small arms clutched tightly around her torso, eyes clenched shut._

He doesn't know when he started feeling like that, but he knows he does. He knows that he hates his sister.

 _It's all his fault this was happening. If only he hadn't gone after that girl..!_

Nori used to be so _nice._ She was a really cool sister, and she took care of him whenever their parents were out. She wasn't ever mean, never hit him, wasn't that bad guy everyone always said older siblings were. Nori was really gentle and kind and attentive. She…

...Hated him.

Curling up under his blanket, Ichigo gripped his bedsheets hard enough that his knuckles turned white, gritting his teeth as he willed his tears away, curling up tighter. He hated her! Hated her so much, because older sisters were supposed to protect their family, weren't they? How could she do something like that to him and Karin and Yuzu?

 _She hates him and it's his fault, because then she wouldn't sound so broken._

It wasn't fair. Why did she suddenly become so stuck-up and rude and mean? She kept brushing him off whenever he tried to talk to her! She was his sister! Family was supposed to care for each other, right? She doesn't really hate him, right? She was just… taking a break! She had to be! Nori couldn't just start hating him like that, right? They were siblings! They knew everything about each other!

 _Did they?_

 _Didn't she blame him for killing their mother?_

(She couldn't... Right?)

Karin didn't know who her sister was anymore. She looked, she stared, and she saw a stranger. Karin hated that. She knew Nori was weird, because she had always been like that, but this was different. It was like she was avoiding them, working around them, ignoring them, looking down, and it hurt. Because sisters were supposed to care for eachother.

 _She didn't care for them, but that didn't stop Karin from caring for her. As much as it hurt, she did. She would never keep away from her sister, crying out so angrily, painfully._

So she kept away. She kept away, because that empty space didn't show her anything new or scary, not like Nori did. That empty space never said it didn't care. In the meantime, she helped Yuzu, because she was cheerful and happy and kind, because she didn't want her twin to change because of someone like Nori.

 _Change because someone betrayed them. But hadn't they all, already? They were already changing._

Yuzu was scared. Scared of her own family, though she loathed to admit. She still tried to talk to her, even if Karin did try to discourage her from time to time. She tried to open conversation, make them laugh, stop them from pushing her away, even if she was terrified.

 _Nori will come around sometime, don't worry! She said, brushing tears away._

And she tried it over.

And over.

And over.

 _Nori will come around, don't worry._

Don't worry?

 _She worried._

 _(I fear and I worry, because I don't want to lose someone else, not again.)_

Somewhere, far away, crossing worlds, a tall, seemingly kindly man tilted his head, watching the screen.

"How... interesting."

Much closer, a black cat watched, yellow eyes gleaming.

* * *

 **Fifteen years adding some. Fifteen years before breaking. Coincidently, that's when she died. Also, two angry breakdowns in the span of a few months. Kurosaki family now know there's something seriously wrong with their little Nori, but will they find out what? Please leave a review!**

 _ **Sigh I need a beta. XD**_


	4. Terror Killings

***Blinks* Holy** _ **shit**_ **11 reviews in one chapter? What is even happening?  
**

 **Update: ヽ(´▽｀)ノ It's a celebration! We have our first contructively negative comment! That's a good thing, right? It means my story is worth not completely scrapping!**

 **Dear 'Ok got IT', here's my reply. Yes, it's stupid. Yes, she may be a bit bonkers. Yes, it's sad. But that's the point. It's called and 'Undertale Effect' because you don't see characters as real, thus easily get rid of monsters left and right. Even if the siblings broke the set storyline of Bleach, she still considers them characters. Why? Because essentially, they are, even to us. Everything you stated was basically the _point._ And maybe it is unrealistic, but look at Aizen. He's basically a guy who went AWOL because he was too smart. JM? Well, she has a basic grasp of most likely possible future events for the next... two or three years. She's more or less been kidnapped away from everything she knew and then stuck in a world that doesn't acknowledge what she's lost and may as well murder her if they know. **

**You did say that I'd probably ignore your thing, but... It's, uh, really hard to find guests to PM. *shrug* Anyways, here's a much-delayed chapter in Nobody Lives Here Anymore!**

* * *

"Hello, little lady. How are you doing?" The worn shopkeeper greets her as she browses the store, hunting through the aisles for chocolates.

"I'm just fine, you?"

The old man grins at her, crooked teeth short and bitten down over years. "Oh, the usual! We've gotten a few new shipments from the farm a few days ago, so we're all restocked! I saved a few of these sweets, I thought you'd like them!"

Pausing her search, Jeanmarie's face turns upward with a grin and she bounds forward, eager at the thought. Bless the old man, he really did mean well towards the residents. "Really? What are they?" She smiled, already knowing the answer. They'd had this conversation many, many times now, after all. It had a few variations, but it was always the same line.

"Hershey's!" The English words rolled awkwardly off the elder's tongue, but even that was enough to make her face split in two with the force of the toothy grin. "I don't know why you like these American sweets so much, but I'm glad you enjoy them! They hardly ever sell, I was sure I'd have to discontinue their marketing."

"I'm really glad you didn't!"

"Me too, little lady, me too." He watches, bemused by the other's exaggerated joy, the extra bounce in their step as they leave.

 _It's only a few streets down that Jeanmarie wonders how much of that was scripted._

"Nori! Tell that brother of yours to come down to get a haircut soon! It's been a while and I'm sure his scruffy mane is worse. Heck, if he promises to actually take care of that mangy mess, I'll cut it for free!" The matronly woman grumbles, yelling across the street. "Honestly, that boy… hair color is a pain, and that tangled knot on his face doesn't help presentation."

She waves nonchalantly, easy grin on her face as she savors the sweetness that she's carefully eating, trying to preserve it to last. "Don't worry, miss, I will!"

 _If only she still had a brother to say that to. If only she could feign confusion, ignore it. If only._

Jeanmarie is still trudging along the street when a gang sweeps by, forcing her to flatten herself against a wall. A second later, Ichigo barrels down yelling to _get the hell back here_ , not even noticing her. As she stares down the road, she belatedly remembers the hair appointments. Sighing, she rolls her eyes at the stupidity and resolves to remind the idiot about it later. "Honestly, that… "

She pauses. Swallowing her words, she shakes her head and turns back down to the direction she was heading. Ichigo and Karin and Yuzu could wait. This was one of her lazy days, that was for sure. God knows she needed one, after dealing with all the ghostly business every minute.

 _Brat. That's what I called my brother all the time, right? I've never called someone else by the stupid tease. Just him. Never someone else._

"Strawberries! Fresh strawberries, sold right here! Newly picked, ready to eat! Try a sample!"

Jeanmarie winces as she shoves through the crowd apologetically, fighting her way towards the stall. _Free day, my ass._ It was loud, much too warm, and very crowded, bodies everywhere and always moving the wrong direction from which she wanted to be going. In short, it was really annoying. Still, after much harassed pushing and pulling and struggling, she manages to pull away from the main throng, stumbling to a stop at the sellers.

The stranger smiles at her, pushing a red fruit into her hand, and she can't refuse. Sighing, she pushes the small edible into her mouth, white staining pink as the skin gives away under her teeth. The slightly sun-warmed fruit is juicy, ripe, and sweet, a truly high-quality product in this small farmer's market. She smiles, knowing she's definitely found a good deal for these. "I'll just have a few cartons, please!" Pulling out her wallet, she carefully counts out the labelled price.

A little expensive for strawberries, but they were good enough that she deemed the exchange worth it. "Thank you for coming!" They waved her off happily, and Jeanmarie manages to pass a smile before being shoved back into the wave of people.

 _Saccharine taste, because Mom always complained about how Americans strawberries were too sour and bitter, not sickly sweet like now, while she nodded along pretending she could remember what the red fruits tasted like when they were grown in Asia._

"Hey, Nori!" Brown hair flashes at the edge of her vision and suddenly, black eyes are staring up at her, wide and happy. "How're you doing? I haven't seen you since forever!"

Okiku Matsumara had hardly changed since they had met. Happy and childish, they were loud and constantly talked at Jeanmarie, laughing and joking every minute of her life. She never didn't smile, and was one of the few people that constantly bugged her. "I'm good. You?"

Okiku flashed a toothy, blinding, smile. "Me? I've been great! Schools been awesome, the weather's been great, and I even have a special meetup I'm planning…"

She nodded along. Usually, they'd chatter for a while, see something else that caught their attention, and leave. They always did. It was practically their set conversation with anyone.

"...And I saw a really pretty butterfly yesterday! You know, the really, really rare ones that nobody else really sees around! How lucky do you think that is?"

"Hm? It sounds cool. What did it look like?"

"Oh! It was kinda yellow, but pale yellow, with black veins and…"

 _Sometimes, Jeanmarie thought, loneliness was less the feeling of being alone by yourself, and more of being able to stand in a crowd and never really talk to anyone. Who knew?_

 _(If only Charlotte and Lily were here… I miss them...)_

All in all, this was a good day, she reflected, slipping the key into the lock and trudging in, arms filled with small trinkets she had found at the markets. It was nice, successful, peaceful. Anything you would ask for in a nice, average day of life. No fights, no chaos, nothing to disrupt the serenity of everyday schedules.

 _All in all, she wished with every part of her heart that she could forget._

 _(There's rarely anything more painful than the act of remembrance.)_

* * *

She spent a lot of her time with secret part-time jobs. Especially now, that her charge was out and looking for her. Scowling, she recalled the day after the funeral breakdown Isshin had broken the news.

"I think we should find a counselor, he said. Yeah, _right._ More like a shrink." Jeanmarie muttered to herself, picking up a wailing toddler. Hoisting them onto her hip, she absentmindedly searched for a feeder with her free hand. "Ah, stop crying, you little baby, please? For your caretaker?" She gave a feeble smile at the infant, _finally_ managing to grab it's bottle and sticking it in the kid's mouth.

As the baby started suckling away, her phone started shaking violently. Frown returning, she pulled it out and pulled a face at the call number. "How angry do you think he'll be if I don't pick up?" Jeanmarie asked the child, still balanced on her hip.

The child blinked at her, and sucked on his bottle. Giving an exasperated groan, she turned it on, wedged it between her ear and her shoulder, and prepared for the whipping she was going to get via a phone call.

" _Kurosaki Nori. Tell me where you are_ right _now or so help me god."_ The voice was low, dark, and furious, and Jeanmarie flinched against her own will.

"Father." She muttered petulantly, placing the now-less-snotty bundle in the crib. _Father, not Dad. I only have one Dad. He's not a doctor, he's not a smoker, he only has two kids. I want him back._ Clenching her teeth tightly at the surfacing thought, she shoved it away to refocus on the voice muttering angrily in her ear.

"Nori, what in the world were you thinking? We're doing this because we're worried about you, and you run off somewhere without telling us where you've went? Ichigo was looking for you all day! Where did you even go?"

Opening her mouth, she readied herself to reply when another small child walked in, clenching crumpled flowers in a sweaty hand. "Marie-nee! Look! Look! I found these pretty flowers! Aren't they beautiful?"

"Yes, they're very pretty, Konami darling, won't you please put them in the vase? I'm busy." She gave a half smile, gesturing to the call. The said girl gave a silent _Oh_ and obediently trotted away, bless her. Sighing in relief, because it wasn't one of the loud days where every baby in the house seemed to wail at once, Jeanmarie turned her attention back to the conversation. "Look, I don't want to go to the shrink, Father, and I'm busy. I have a job and I'm not telling you where, since you're going to get Ichigo to drag me back. You can chew me out later, alright?"

"Nori, what are you even doing? Was that a _child_? Are you babysitting for someone?"

 _Why do you care? You're not my father, anyways._

"Yeah, something like that. Part-time job. Oh, look like a kid's crying, gotta go, bye."

 _Just a stupid, stupid painting._

"Nor-" _Beep._ Sighing, she clicked it off. Maybe she could stay over at someone else's house.

A rustle near the doorway alerted her of another presence. "Family troubles?" the voice inquired, sounding mildly concerned. (Oh, they had no idea.)

She shook her head placatingly. "No, nothing like that. Go play with your friends, Teika." Ushering the 12 year old out of the room, Jeanmarie conveniently forgot her phone under the couch.

"You're lying!" Teika pulled out of her grip, staring directly into her eyes with a new kind of look. "You always help us, so you gotta tell us the truth! That way we can help, too!"

Rolling her eyes, she pushed him out the door and into the playground. "That's very nice, Teika." Ignoring his protests, she casually shoved him out the door and closed it firmly, indicating the end of the conversation. _Annoying. Why bother caring for them, anyways?_ Something raged inside her head, but it was small, so she ignored it. It wasn't too bad, working at the orphanage, even for minimum wage.

It stopped the reminders in its tracks, for the most part. The startling difference to everyday life had been a shock, forcing her to really _try_ to get through the day for the first time in years.

And the kids, they didn't question her, had never heard of her, didn't insist on calling her 'Nori'. No, for once in this pitiful life, she was Jeanmarie again, like she had always been, and she-

Loved it? No. She didn't just love it. It was like something had been taken away from her, and she was jubilant that it had. It made her chest pound with happiness every time anyone called for her with that name, made her face split in two to hear the butchered pronunciation. _This,_ came the bright thought, _This lack of dysphoria, it gives me wings._

Love it? That was the understatement of the universe.

The kids, the orphans, they seemed to her hear better than anyone else had. The ones who had been left behind, voluntarily or not, the ones who knew the pain of being forgotten, the 'throw away children'. They seemed to feel it just a bit more, and she was glad. It was only pure luck that she had ever gotten this job. Orphanages were pitifully funded in Japan, it seemed, and it was desperate for workers, even ones still in high school. _...Feel? Hear? It's only ink. Ink doesn't have a conscience._

The first time the cash had passed hands, she had smiled.

It was her ticket out of here, after all.

 _And now, she only had a few more days to go. Just a few more days, and she could be free. Free of reminders, free of mockery, free of her lying reflection._

 _Miss them?_

 _Ha._

 _What a joke._

(She would. She hates herself for it.)

"Kurosaki! Come help with lunch!"

"Coming!"

The work continued far into the night, and she got home only a few hours before twilight struck. Biting on her thumbnail nervously, she took a deep breath and placed her hand on the cold doorknob. With a slight turn and a small creak, Jeanmarie slipped into the gap, shivering at the temperature change. Gently tugging off her shoes in the darkness and slipping forward, her toes tip-tapped silently as she made her way through the dark house. Feeling her way into the dark living room, she gave a heaving sigh and relaxed as the emptiness became apparent. Carefully unloading her bag and pulling her hair free from its bun, she reached back to lean on the counter.

"Welcome home."

A strangled _Holy fuck!_ escaped her mouth as the lights flicked on, revealing a very, _very_ unhappy Isshin. Starting violently, she missed the edge of the table, crashing onto the floor. Jeanmarie scrambled back, hissing as she tried not to jump up and down at the blossoming agony where her side had been stabbed by the corner. As she spun around with a limp, half-hunched over in an attempt to ease the pain, she almost screamed in shock at the stranger lurking behind her guardian figure, instead biting down on her lip harder.

"Ah, no need to be so scared of little old me!" The figure stepped forward, making her eyes swivel over to stare at the striped hat. "It's been a long time, Nori-chan."

 _Urahara Kisuke._

 _Genius, abandoned shinigami, side player. One of the stronger ones, owning powers that she-couldn't-remember but had a lot of death. Worked in a 'candy' store with a big guy and two small kids. Yoruichi hung out with him a lot. Put the stone into Rukia._

"... Mr. Kisuke." Jeanmarie slowly, quietly acknowledged, throbbing in her side suddenly feeling insignificant to the sound of her heart in her ears. (He _knows,_ we're going to die _again,_ I'm scaredscared _scared_ ) The shinigami were thousands of years old, and she didn't doubt he already knew everything there was about her. Urahara Kisuke was a genius, and a real one, not a faker like herself.

"You remember me, it's really been awhile!"

 _Oh, I'm so fucking dead - Even I probably don't know how badly screwed I am._

Apparently not noticing her small panic attack in the corner, Isshin continued. "Now, he was worried and agreed to be your counselor for a few days, until you ran off." He glanced to the other, as if some secret could be passed through sight alone. "He said he'd wait until you got back, so I'll let you two talk it out now, before you run away again." He gave a disapproving glare towards her.

"But-"

" _Nori._ " swallowing fearfully, she steeled her face and nodded, almost petulant but not quite. With the confirmation, the black-haired almost-shinigami rose and left silently, almost uncharacteristic to her usual screeching. Jeanmarie just watched despairingly as the door closed behind him, her only hope of escape probably disappearing.

Silence reigned, broken only by her breathing, unnaturally heavy in the darkened room. Her eyes bored into the floor, unable to look up in fear of the utter _monster_ in the room with her.

"..."

 _They'll kill me, they'll murder me, they'll find out. They have found out, it's just a matter of time until I die now, I don't want to die I don't I can't why can't I look up why can't I run-_

 _I'm scared._

When people had claimed to be 'frozen by fear' before, she had not believed them. What idiot would let themselves be taken over by mere feelings? What incompetent moron would ever be stuck to the ground by a mere delusional emotion? She had snorted and turned her head high.

(What a stupid, stupid girl she had been.)

Her hands were shaking, she couldn't move, couldn't blink, just cower in her stance, shrink away in a way where she was still standing completely still. Her breathing had turned into raspy gasps long ago, cold sweat beading her forehead.

" _So_ …"

Flinching violently enough to almost knock a glass off the counter, Jeanmarie statically lifted her head, staring almost unseeingly at her certain doom. "Y-yes?" Her voice answered, a pitifully high-pitched squeak. Somehow, she couldn't find it in her to feel ashamed, utter terror encompassing her so.

The shopkeeping character laughed, seeming to wave her reaction away with a flick of his hand. "Now, now, relax! I'm not going to eat you! Sit down, get something to drink, all that." He smiled, jovially sly, "We're probably going to be here awhile, no?"

Numbly, she nodded, and felt herself carefully pull out a chair, agonizingly slow, as if under a spell. Frozen, she sat there, straight-backed and stiff. _Why hasn't he killed me yet?_ She wondered dimly, some traces of coherent thought still lingering under the thick layer of terror. _I probably deserve it, right? Is he just toying with me?_

(Even deeper still, something snarls, furious and spitting. _I bet he just wants to watch us cower.)_

"Since we're all seated, let's have a talk." The striped hat shades his eyes, and Jeanmarie can only watch him smile.

Across the table, one Urahara Kisuke grinned, half-amused and half-concerned by the fear and anxiety pouring out of the other in waves. _I wonder how much of that is justified?_ He mused internally, scanning the other from under his favorite hat. The girl wasn't even trembling, really, just pale enough to be a corpse and looking so nauseous that he had half a mind to find a bucket lying around before they threw up. As he studied her closely, noting the uncannily fluctuating reiatsu flowing in the air, tilting his head slightly. The pressure, while half-hidden by Ichigo's massive presence, was still prominently different than what he had expected and raised alarms in his hatted mind.

 _How odd… Just how much stress is she in right now? Or is it something else?_

When Yoruichi had told him something was up with the Kurosaki family's eldest, he had half expected-hoped, more like, that something small, something that didn't need to be worried about too much.

" _Her levels were shifting severely," The outlaw had reported, "It's shooting from below-average to high, and back! It's like she's depleting them and regaining them in seconds." Yellow-golden eyes bore into him. "There's something wrong with her, and I don't think it's an improvement. She's also very fluent in English, more so than natural. My skills were rusty, from but what I could make out…" Yoruichi sighed._

" _Not good?" He hummed._

" _Not good."_

 _His relaxed gaze sharpened, and he stiffened infinitesimally. "Aizen?"_

 _The other shook her head. "Negative. Or at least, I hope so. That wasn't like him. His usual tactics involve getting close to his subordinates before manipulating them into his cause. The girl seemed to be extremely unstable, especially if her spiritual power's pattern said anything. She didn't seem to have any real power, other than a great capacity of reiryoku."_

 _Urahara nodded, taking a moment to sort through the information dump. This was… actually not that unexpected. There had always been something vaguely off about the Kurosaki's, he knew, but even he didn't think they'd attract_ this _much trouble. First the whole mess with the quincy-hollow-shinigami attack, then with Ichigo and Nori's extreme reiatsu pressure (The former's was much, much greater than the latter, thank the spirit king for that. Urahara didn't think he could handle_ two _potential powerhouses.), then Masaki's mysteriously vague death. Now the girls. He sighed. It was like the whole family was begging for trouble. "I'll check up on them tomorrow. I'm sure Isshin would let me see if something was too badly off with his daughter, especially with Aizen's possible involvement. I'll try to poke around for information and take reading on her state of power."_

" _Alright. Be careful." With a sweep of a tail, the former Onmitsukidō leader was gone._

* * *

 **Things are coming to a serious head with this! Thanks for the huge support, everyone, and sorry for the late chapter! School's been really killing me lately, so updates might be a bit slower than usual. Ah, Urahara was so hard to write... Tell me if I did well on his character!**

 **-IDS-**

 **P.S.** **We have a little link to the basic design concept for little Jeanmarie/Nori down in my bio, tell me what you think!**


	5. Quiet Running

**HELLO. URAHARA IS A BITCH TO WRITE.**

 **Thank you for all the reviews, though, I really did enjoy all the feedback!**

* * *

 _The sky… It's grey, and it's raining. Not muggy…? How long has it been since this kind of wet chill touched my face?_

Jeanmarie glanced around, shivering slightly as the light drizzle wet her hair. The surroundings were… Quite familiar, actually. The surroundings were a nice, dark shade of green, the crisp scent of freshly-snapped pine needles filling her nose. The ground squished under her bare feet (Bare feet? When had that happened?) and she shifted her toes, feeling the water well up. Blinking, she peered up, finding the sky covered with overreaching branches, blocking her view. The dull thought of panicking rose up in her mind, but it was quickly smothered by the odd feeling of calm the trees seemed to emanate.

Digging her heels into the ground, Jeanmarie, glanced around uncertainly, unsure of her next course of action. _I can always take a walk… It's been awhile since I've been in a forest like this!_ The disturbingly cheerful thought bubbled forward, and with a nod towards the leaves, she started forward, beginning to pick her way through the mysterious forest. Somehow, she managed to avoid the sharper bits of rock, ducking under a branch here and there.

Stepping absentmindedly over a tiny, mirror-like stream, the girl tentatively walked forward, feeling more confident with every step. There was nobody else here, it seemed, and that made her feel a bit better about the whole ordeal. _At least nobody can say I got lost in the backyard._ Heaving a sigh, she pushed her way through a brush, reaching for a mossy rock for balance, when-

"You know, I've been waiting for you."

Almost biting off her tongue in an attempt her squeak of surprise, she whirled around in a speed that gave her whiplash, hackles already raised. "Who's there?" She snapped sharply, eyes darting from tree to tree. Sourceless and empty, the familiar feel of the forest had faded into an eery leer, the leaves once blanketing the sky so nicely turning into claws, raking downwards. "I asked who was there! Answer me!" The hairs on her neck seemed to stand on needlepoint, and Jeanmarie shrunk in on herself. _Who the hell is this!?_

The same voice, soft and almost childish with the intonation of someone raising their eyebrow, called from behind her back, mocking her with an answer without answers. "Don't you remember me?"

" _Ahrgh_!" With a strangled screech of shock, her hand lashed out behind her as she jumped away, eyes closing reflexively. _Fuck._ A strong grip had gotten a hold of her outstretched fist, and she swallowed sharply, slowly looking back at the stranger who had grabbed her hand.

"...Hello, Jeanmarie. It took me quite a bit of time to ferry you over here."

 _Orange hair and grey eyes, pale and blank and you're supposed to be_ dead _-_

(She was supposed to be dead, too.)

* * *

"Since we're all seated, let's have a talk."

Jeanmarie gripped her sweaty hands together under the table, cold beads pouring down the back of her neck as she fixated her gaze on the edge. The icy terror running through her chest wasn't helping her concentrate much, and her jaw felt like it was frozen shut. _Does he really want to know? To clarify? To toy?_ She frantically rifled through her mind for something, _anything_ that would help, but that inhibiting feeling of terror had already sunk its fangs into her judgement.

 _What did the characters in those shitty fanfictions do? What did they do?!_

She didn't know. How could she, after all? They never got caught, they never told the truth, they never dealt with something like this. Sucking in a strangled breath, she wrung her hands harder as the other watched.

 _Assume he knows, but doesn't. Never give anything away. Play the fool, play the weak, play the ignorant. Never flat-out lie, never tell something that isn't true. Play the half-truths, the manipulator, even if it's futile, even if the opponent is much smarter than you._

(Please, god, let this work. Let me live to find a way home)

Flinching as the other started speaking, she attempted to draw herself out of her stupor and flicked her eyes upwards, barely scanning the other for a second before fixing on the table again. He looked so _confident_.

"...So, how was your day?"

 _Always casual and playing with others, never directly saying anything. Fucking Urahara Kisuke._ The drip of anger helped fuel her response, and an "It was fine." came out. She sighed, proud that her voice didn't waver half as much as she thought it would. This man was truly a danger wrapped in a comedy show, wasn't he? At the very least, the one card she had was her knowledge of the threat he imposed. What had been his power, again…?

 _Something about a circle of death, right?_ Either way, there was a reason that he had been the one to take down that-one-very-powerful-guy, and she would never underestimate him.

She couldn't afford to.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly unlinked her hands, wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt. "What do you want, a-anyways?"

Jeanmarie fought back a shiver as the other man shrugged nonchalantly, unable to believe for a second that the shopkeeper wasn't lying. "Like your dad said, he wanted me to check up on you, especially since he was worried." They eyed her searchingly.

"My _father_ has nothing to be paranoid about." She retorted sharply, still not bothering-still too scared, to be truthful-to look the other in the eye. "He can keep his nose in his own business." Some cracked-up character had no right to try and look into her problems, that was for sure.

(After all, why should they even care? They only tried because she wore this disgusting skin, one that should have rotted and died before it was even conceived.)

Urahara merely tilted his head, an almost curious gesture in the tense air of the kitchen, before jabbing at another perspective. He'd prefer not to be so crude, but it seemed that they wouldn't react to any of his pleasantries.

What a pity.

"Well, well, well..." He trailed off, pulling the brim of his striped hat over his eyes, shaking his head. "What would your mother say if she saw you?" He was granted with an immediate increase in pressure, a visible tensing of the other's frame. "She surely wouldn't want you to be so changed after her death, don't you think?"

 _Fucking_ Urahara _Kisuke._

Taking a deep breath, Jeanmarie exhaled through her nose heavily, pushing down the sudden knot of ice in her stomach. "What she wants doesn't matter anymore. She's dead."

What _It_ wanted never mattered in the first place, she thought icily, glaring daggers at her interrogator. The only thing that ever held her attention was her real mother, and she _wasn't here_. _What the replacement wanted could kindly screw the hell off._

"Is that so? She'd have been sad to hear that. She really did care for you, no?"

Jeanmarie scoffed in an unladylike manner, rolling her eyes. "That was years ago, and she's long gone now. What do you really want?" She couldn't stand the mind games, not without shattering under the weight of the lie that was her entire life.

That, and the fear of giving something away wanted to make her curl up and hide.

(He was toying with her - How _dare_ he?)

Urahara sighed, frowning deeply to an almost comical point. "Now, now, I just wanted to see how my favorite redhead was doing! You can't fault me for that, can you?"

 _Why doesn't he just talk to the grave instead?_ Her mind snipped, and she shook her head to get rid of the thought. "Well, if that's it, then I'm doing perfectly fine-But do you know what? I am very, _very_ tired and sleepy. I am going to go sleep, like a normal person does at 11 PM at night." She shot back, abruptly and ungracefully standing up. Turning around in a shaky huff, she forced her feet forward in wide, gangly steps, pretending that she wasn't about to break down and run like hell was on her heels. Quite literally, so, looking at the fact that half the people here were dead.

" _Why are you so angry at her for dying?"_

Jeanmarie flinched to a stop.

The question was quiet, plainly asked. It wasn't accusatory in any way, but she felt a sudden urge of rage burst up in her, swamping over the fear. In a moment of recklessness, she slowly turned on her heel, glaring at the stupid striped hat. "Who told you I was _angry_?" came the low growl. The air around seemed to stagnate in front of her, her temper spiking as her heart _clenched._ "Who _exactly_ said I was angry!? Why the _hell_ would I be _angry_ about her death, anyways!?" She spat, even as her judgment screamed at her to stop provoking the man.

 _Don't compare my mother to whatever you think you're talking about. Don't compare my mother to someone as worthless as_ It _was. Don't ever say my faith to my family is so easily swayed._ She snarled internally, fighting the urge to turn up her lips into a sneer. _I don't miss it I don't miss it I don't I don't I_ don't _._

 _I_ won't _betray them._

 _I_ don't _care._

What right did It have to be missed, anyways?

( _What right did she have to miss her?_ )

"You're obviously angry about _something_ ," Urahara pointed out easily, ignoring her obvious rage, "And what else do you have to be mad about? It's really quite obvious. And as to why, I'm sure you know." Continuing calmly, he took a sip of water.

Jeanmarie glared darkly. "I am _not_ angry about her death."

"Yes, you are."

"I am not."

" _Yes,_ you are."

Grappling with the bitter darkness that coiled up in her throat as she fought back the urge to punch something, she ground her teeth and gritted out, "I. Am not. _Angry_. About her death. Now if you have nothing else to do, I am going to go to _bed."_ She snapped.

 _Shut up shut up shut the hell_ up _already you fucking-_

The infuriating man merely shook his head. "You're mad. If I had to guess…" He tapped his finger on his chin dramatically, "You're angry because you feel left behind, right? And I bet you feel survivor's guilt or something. And you might even be blaming Ichigo for whatever he didn't do. You blame yourself for not being there. You miss her, but you're trying too hard to move on. You feel like Masaki abandoned you-"

"Shut up shut up _shut up!_ God, do you never stop _fucking_ talking!?" Jeanmarie screeched, physically _shaking_ against the urge to go up to him and slap him. She wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him like a rag doll, and scream and scream and _scream_ because even that would be better than listening to him spew lies and assumptions and everything that _wasn't true._ Her nails dug into her palms as her fists clenched, hands white-knuckled and seeming to almost spasm with the urge to beat something.

Preferably Urahara.

Still bristling and snarling, she snapped back through ground and gnashing teeth."I don't _care_ about it! I don't blame her because I don't _give a fuck_ and I'm not _angry_ and I _don't_ feel like I've been left behind so _stop_ spewing all that sentimental _bullshit_." With another glare, she whipped back around and stormed out, wrenching the door open furiously and slamming it behind her as hard as she could. She turned to go upstairs, but paused, heading down to the front door instead and tearing outside. She blindly walked down the street, feet gaining speed by the second. Within a minute or two, she was sprinting.

 _Run away from them run away (Shit Jeanmarie you fucking_ idiot _you really fucked up_ - _Just anger like the literal most powerful person fucking ever why don't you oh yes that would be great for your goddamn survival are you mentally retarded oh my_ god-)

Finally skidding to a stop underneath a bridge to catch her breath, she gulped down the irritatingly muggy night air, wiping away the sweat that had beaded on her forehead.

"...Goddamnit." Jeanmarie slumped down, leaning against the graffiti-stained stone wall.

 _Goddamnit._ Tears of frustration welled up, causing her to furiously scrub her eyes red. She sniffed, furiously blinking in order to shove the water in her eyes back down. She hated this so much. She was so helpless, so scared, so alone. Everything was trying to either kill her or make her forget about her previous life and everyone in it.

She wanted it back. She was so _sick_ of all of this anime schtick. Wallowing in fairly justified (?) self-pity, she finally gave up with her fruitless endeavor and allowed her eyes to leak freely all over her cheeks, rubbing her nose periodically. It wasn't even completely out of sadness-The feeling of helplessness and stress, perhaps even relief from walking away from the shinigami alive-contributed. Wiping away the tears, she caught sight of her reflection on the moonlit water, grimacing at the view. Red, puffy, swollen eyes and brightened nose glared back at her, and underneath that-

 _"You're just a little progeny, aren't you?"_

Slumping at this constant reminder once more, she allowed herself to sink deeper into her self pitying and reflect upon the mirrored image in the river.

Dark orange hair that insisted on curling, matched with drooping grey eyes. Mouth set in a deep scowl, playing on thin lips. Hesitatingly, Jeanmarie reached up to her hair tie, letting the hair that she kept up down, before turning her lips up in a mockery of a familiar grin. (Jesus christ and whatever powers that existed, the universe really liked dicking with her, didn't it?) Swiping a hand through the reflection, she wiped the wetness on her skirt and trussled her hair back up. With a sigh, she contemplated the options presented to her.

Option one. Go back to the house, apologize, continue miserable existence close to the literal hotspot of paranormal activity.

Option two. Leave. For somewhere.

Option three. Tell the people that needed to know about what could possibly happen. Potentially become locked up.

Option four. Pretend to be in hijinks with the enemy using her knowledge, end said miserable existence.

She shook her head, rubbing her temples in a futile attempt to sort her thoughts. She was certainly becoming messed up if she was _actually_ considering the fourth option, but at this point, becoming a ghost would be easier-

 _NO._ Snarling, she drove her knuckles into her head, trying to force herself to wake up. Was she stupid? This storybook already had this whole machination of death or something into play! Ghosts weren't even real, anyways, and who knew if the reincarnation process would even kick in again! She'd never see her family again. Half the goddamn reason she decided to not take the risk of _fuck it, let's jump off the nearest cliff and hope I land in a better life than this bullshit_ yet was precisely because of the chance that she might land even further away-Or, gods forbid, forget about them altogether. Shuddering at the thought, she sighed. Either way, option four was clearly out of the question.

Option one was her least favourite but most likely.

Option three wasn't going to happen for a chance in hell.

 _... She could always go to the people that didn't need to know..._ That _would_ be more entertaining that sitting around and gnawing her fingers, minus the fact that the person in charge of the 'People That Didn't Need to Know' was somewhat batshit insane, a genius, and could probably kill her with a snap of his fingers. (Of course, that applied to the 'People That Needed to Know' as well...)

Jeanmarie shifted into a more comfortable sitting position and frowned. What had Aizen's goal been, anyways? Something about ruling the entire world. And something about a weird stone. Hogyoki? Hogyoko? It turned the man into some gigantic butterfly monster. It had something to do with Inoue Orihime and Chad or Sado or whatever, too. Her flower pins and his gigantic arms and all. The stone granted people power, right? She frowned further, scrunching her forehead. She was definitely forgetting something important.

A breeze blew by.

Yeah, this could definitely wait until after she actually managed to arrange housing. Option two sounds fun. Usually, she wouldn't spontaneously decide to run away like this, but...

Urahara's appearance had confirmed it. She was becoming too suspicious to remain in close proximity to anyone. (She doubted she could mentally handle this longer, too.)

"...Hey, Okiku... Yeah, it's late, I'm really sorry. Could I stay at your place for a bit? I'm under... circumstances. I'll pay rent and everything..."

Her voice faded into the wind as she negotiated her way into the night.

* * *

Ichigo, Karin, and Yuzu were worried. Extremely worried. All they heard was a yelling match and then their sister was gone. She hadn't returned in weeks, and the only note that she had even come back was her stuff mysteriously disappearing while they were at school.

Ichigo had cried then, if only briefly. Every trace of his sibling, turning to dust in an instant. Not even the scent of her usually floral shampoo remained, as if the owner had spitefully sprayed down the entire settlement with Febreeze. He cried and hated himself just a bit more, hating himself for apparently being the cause of whatever change his big sister had overtaken. _If only he hadn't gone and killed his mom..._

 _If only he had been a bit stronger._

Yuzu wailed, almost refusing to come out of Nori's room for an entire week. As the practical youngest and somewhat self-proclaimed closest to their long-estranged oldest sibling, she buried herself in the other's bed, as if that could desperately bring back some minuscule trace that the other had existed. She found three hair scrunchies, a hair clip, and an array of mirror shards that had been smashed years prior for her efforts. Nobody said anything when she changed her old hair accessory and suddenly acquired an odd looking bracelet.

 _Where are you? Please come back._

Karin was admittedly least affected by this sudden development, and although she didn't show her anxiety quite as much as her twin, the number of nights where she snuck into Ichigo's bed along with Yuzu took a drastic increase. She didn't want to admit it, but she was partly relieved that the other had left. Their oldest sibling had always scared her somewhat, with dramatic mood swings and an empty quality that she never really wanted to contemplate for long periods of time. She was almost angry at the sudden departure, growing sullen.

 _At least say goodbye. Tell us where you went! You suck..._

Isshin knew, or at least had a general idea where she was.

He never tried to bring her back. The last time he had caught a glimpse of her was in a cafe, chatting calmly, _happily,_ with a group of friends. Hurriedly swinging the rest of the children away, he threw one last glance behind his shoulder and allowed one last pang in his heart.

 _She was happier without them._

That was the last they ever saw of each other.

...

She wished. At least she had a few years of peace.

* * *

 **Exams are terrible, I say. Anyways, yes, she's actually gaining some sort of timeskip. Not. We're still gonna be trailing her for a bit. Fear not, for those who dislike an abundance of OCs, though! It's only snippets. But yeah, she's doing something. Kind of. ON AN UNRELATED NOTE, WHO REMEMBERS THE HOGYOKU'S TRUE POWER? OUO GUESS WHO MIGHT WANT THAT SAID POWER**

 **That's something to think abouttttt**

 **Please Review! Betas would still be much appreciated!**


	6. Breakaway Chipping

Sometimes, Jeanmarie wants nothing more but to forget. She hates herself for thinking it and claws at her heart for wishing, but when she's as withered and shriveled and as strung out as this, she just wants and needs to _forget_. This and that and everything else, him and her and everyone. _Please, just go away and disappear._

 _I'm begging you._

She can't handle the pain that strangles her heart and tears at her throat when she remembers. _Let me forget you,_ she pleads to the taunting, happy memories, _Let me forget and move on and run away from all this guilt._

 _Just leave me alone._

But she cannot and will not, and this whole world is so false and full of reminders upon reminders that she wants to screech and break and _burn_.

And in dreams where things mattered even less than the world she had been thrown into?

She does.

Jeanmarie heaves the coffee-scented mug across the room, acrid smell invading her nose with memories of early mornings watching the rain fall. It shattered onto the floor, taking the thought away. She silently turns before her arm sweeps across the table, everything crashing onto the floor with a deafening crack. The chair is upturned, the napkins are torn, and the books and food and everything are all stained together because _she would rather starve than face an empty dinner table again._

She sees her brother's smile on another's face and a mirror with nothing but lies and blanches, turning even paler than she already was, and knocks the reflection onto the ground as she tries in vain to rip that impossible color off her skin. Her mouth is still glued shut but her eyes are burning and her chest is nothing but ice.

When she finally stops and turns around, arms streaked with angry red, she finds the kid watching, staring glassily as he wears a grin that was not and would not ever be his.

Her mouth shudders open and she _screams_ because she's sure that if it was possible to die from heartbreak she should have been gone years ago and she wishes it _was-_

Because she doesn't care, not anymore, about the cup or the table or the mirrors or the house or her drawings or her _anything-_

 _But the father that always insisted on using the same mug for drinking his caffeine and the mother that set the tables for dinner and the grandparents who gave her the looking glass and the friends who would call her stupid, stupid nicknames-_

 _The brother that would fight her over the smallest things-_

When she wakes up from the nightmare, she silently opens her eyes to the wrong room. Once again, the knot in her stomach grows, and she turns to burrow her head back into the pillow, suffocating herself in the false comfort.

…

"Yoo-hoo! Is anyone home?'' Someone tapped on her head gently, but she didn't acknowledge them. After all, she was only putting her head down for a minute, right? Just a few seconds, a few blissful moments of leaning her head in her arms and closing her eyes, for once letting all her worries just… float away… _Smack!_ "Kurosaki! Stop slacking and wake up!"

" _Argh!"_ Jeanmarie slammed awake, hand lashing out to almost catch the attacker in the face. The bright light cut through her eyes, and she felt a muscle involuntarily twitch. "I-What? I'm awake, I'm awake… Sorry, Okiku." The easily forgettable face of her plane-jane classmate blurred into her view as she blinked the bleariness away. "Haven't been getting much sleep. What were we doing?" She checked the clock in the front of the classroom as she asked, eyebrows rising in surprise. She'd been asleep for all of 18 minutes, despite what had felt like a two second nap.

"Well, _we_ were studying for the next sciences test together until _someone_ decided to fall alseep, yeah?" The brunette frowned at me, before squinting in concern. "Hey, you sure you're not sick or something? You've been super out of it lately. You even fell asleep in English class, and you _love_ English class! Seriously, I'm pretty sure the teachers are gossiping!" Okiku switched into a poor falsetto imitation, forcing a laugh out of Jeanmarie. " _Kurosaki Nori? Sleeping in class? A blasphemous notion!"_

"I'm fine. Just haven't been sleeping well." She ran a hand through her tangled hair, wincing as her fingers caught in her curls. (...Why hadn't she cut them yet?)

The other sighed, shaking her head. She just shrugged, dimly listening as the other droned on and on about how she should take better care of herself, how she was seriously worried about Nori, how she needed to loosen up at take a break, etc.

 _I'm sure I'd be fine if I wasn't, I don't know, having to watch my back 24/7?_

 _(... Charlotte and Lily would be saying the same thing-I miss them I want them back I_ need _them back-_

 _Stop_ thinking _about it-)_

Okiku paused for breath, peering at her skeptically. "...Are you even listening? I'm really concerned, you know."

"God, just _stop_ already! I _get_ it, alright!?" She snapped at the other, shooting off a glare as her hand tightened over her pencil. She didn't need to listen to this, didn't have the time nor the patience to deal with an imitation right now. _Couldn't the girl just drop it?_ Having half a mind to get up and leave, she started shifting up on her chair to gather her things before being brought to a stuttering halt at the look on Okiku's face.

It looked… pained.

Hurt.

Like it actually had feelings, actually cared, actually had a heart. Which it didn't, something Jeanmarie knew was a _fact_.

So what was this hole opening up beneath her feet? What were these pricks of bubbling guilt rolling in her gut? Was she really becoming so _pathetic_ that she was turning to something like this for comfort? Were her only friends really that replaceable? What about her family? Her teeth ground together, brain clogging up once again and drowning under burning questions searing across her eyes. An unbearable itch seemed to spring up on the inside of her chest, doubt and uncertainty and _loathing_ growing and leeching off her insides.

" _Nori._ "

A hand clasped at her own, breaking her sickened reverie. Jeanmarie stiffened, eyes refocusing onto Okiku. "...What?"

"I know you're having a hard time. Might not know why, per say, but I know something's going on. I'm not sure why you ran away from home or why you're not sleeping or why you've been acting like something's gonna eat you." The brunette paused for breath, innocently earnest eyes looking into her own (disgusted, disgusted, don't act like you _know me)._ "But I want you to know that I want to help, okay? I'm really worried about you, and as a friend I don't want to let that go. You might not accept my help right now, but I want you to know I'll always be there for you." ( _No no no shut up shut up shut_ up).

Jeanmarie swallowed the needless lump rising in her throat, for some reason unable to look away. Eyes caught, she instead chose to grit out a suspicious, "...Why?"

"Well, we're friends, right?" Okiku smiled brightly, and for just a second-

For _just_ a second-

 _Not Lily or Charlotte, Okiku and her alone, nobody gripping around her throat or ears and being even minimally freer from the weight over her shoulders._

She blinked, and the faces of her friends taunted her from the other's eyes once more. The tightness around her chest slammed back into place, wrapping around and strangling it once more. She nodded blankly. "Right." Muttering the word quietly, she re-seated herself into her chair, picking up her science book. The other beamed at her from over the pages, and Jeanmarie let herself relax, just a bit.

She was just humoring the girl for awhile, it didn't mean anything. It didn't. She would ever understood how she could ever interact with them like this. Were they sentient? Did they matter at all in the big picture? They weren't real, but sometimes she could fool herself…

 _(God, please let her fool herself)_

..

Ichigo's fifteenth birthday hits, and Jeanmarie doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know when the plot starts, doesn't know anything about the date or when everything would begin. All she knows is that there's an imminent threat on the horizon, terror looming over her and creating a hole in her gut. She doesn't bother with presents or birthday cards or anything inconsequential like that, and although her hand pauses above her phone for half a second, she brushes the silly thought away in favor of preparations for the events to come.

She's been counting, counting, counting, days and weeks and months. Each a tick on her calendars, running through days that she wished would lengthen.

 _I need a weapon,_ she tells herself under that rising wave of panic, running a hand through her hair over and over again as she tries to force herself to think. _Do normal things even work against Hollows and stuff?_ They did, didn't they? Or was it just spirit stuff? Jeanmarie forces down the knot in her stomach, a feeling of dread crawling over her hands and making them quiver. She couldn't even remember the small things, what the hell was she supposed to do in order to stay _alive?_

 _Calm down, calm down, calm_ down.

"Think, for fuck's sake!" She snaps at herself under her breath, fingers catching in the orange knots as English pours forth. " _Chad hit the hollow thing with a telephone pole one time, right?! Right?!" She's getting hysterical, pacing back and forth in her bedroom with too much knowledge of useless bullshit bouncing back and forth in her head. "Holy fuck what the hell am I supposed to do? I sure can't go to Urahara, creepy bastard, but god knows I don't want to get murdered by the Hollows and Aizen_ -"

Aizen.

Jeanmarie freezes in place, shivering as she feels an imaginary gaze run ice along the back of her neck. The question that she had asked before, many, many times, echoed in her head.

Could Aizen _spy_ on her? Actually, could Urahara?

 _Oh my god. The fucking genius up in the sky had mentioned something about-Conducting Ichigo's birth? Keeping track of him? Was he tailing her too, now that she existed?_ Another tendril of cold terror wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly as she stood, frozen like a statue. She couldn't breathe under this _pressure,_ this feeling of being watched and stalked and dissected for every move. A blanket, a cover, a stabbing sense of ice, sinking through her skin with every second, matching the _tick tock_ of the clock. Dark spots begin to spread accross her vision before she finally inhales, a shuddering rasp emitting from her throat as her eyes begin to dart around the tiny apartment space she had inhabited.

( _She would run and run and_ run _but nowhere and nothing was safe, not from prying eyes and grasping hands and the choking_ fear _-_

 _She couldn't_ breathe-

She would never be able to escape. This apartment, this city, this world, would she ever be able to just hide?

Her trembling hands twitched from where it was buried in her flyaway hair, numb and frozen under the feeling of being watched.

 _Oh god, nono_ no _, the eyes, I can feel it everywhere on my neck my back my throat-_

Fighting through the haze of panic, Jeanmarie forced her fingers to slowly curl up into fists, and somewhere from underneath the urgent blaring need to flee, she found the flickering coherency to yank.

Hard.

Her neck snapped forward. "Ow!" Jeanmarie yelped, massaging her now-sore scalp. The throbbing pain broke the mask of dread, quelling it and reorienting her world. She couldn't afford to break down, not now. Not when danger was guaranteed to kick up and her life was in serious risk of death. She _had_ to survive. Death was unacceptable.

 _And maybe she wants to-_

 _But that could never happen. She wouldn't let it. She would never betray her family like that._

Jeanmarie could not risk committing anything less than perfection in face of a literal war. She could do nothing but plan, write lists upon lists of things that must be done, needed to be done, and helplessly fight and rage and scream against things that would come and burn everything to the ground.

(And damn her if she ever claimed she didn't want to let everything go up in flames.)

So she shoves down the possibility of a watcher (But honestly, can she really?) and buys a metal bat or three, sleeps with a knife under her pillow, and starts stashing weapons (Or things that resembled them, anyways) around town. Small things, a long stick painstakingly whittled down to a point here, a broken mop with jagged splinters half-taped together there. As inconspicuous as she could make it. Of course she was sorely deluded if she thought something like that could protect against anything but an ordinary human, but she _needed_ this. Jeanmarie needed the false illusion of safety, of being able to do something, anything in the face of danger. She needed it like a drowning man needed air-She would go mad if she didn't.

 _It would protect her,_ The blade promised. _It would give her a fighting chance._ She could fight and survive and fightfight _fight_ to the beat of her living heart. When the hollows started to appear and maybe even go after her (Who was she kidding? It was just a matter of time) she could try to fight. She could give herself a chance at survival, at avoiding death one more time.

 _It will protect her._

 _It_ will _protect her._

It had to. After all, what else could she do?

Life went on. And on. And keeps going on, as normally as can be. It. Was. _Nervewracking_.

Months over months were purely average days of looking over her shoulder, waiting for something, _anything_ out of the ordinary. Nights on end were wasted, staring out the window in paranoid hysteria and lost sleep, thrumming her fingers nervously on the handle of a kitchen knife. Jeanmarie almost started hoping for the plot to begin-God knows that it was better than the helplessness and paranoia that swathed every waking moment. Her eyes peeled open through pure nervous energy and an instinct to always flee.

 _Shaking hands and darting eyes that couldn't and wouldn't close, a pounding hammer of sleeplessness breaking apart her brain, she can't think._

 _(God, just kill me now, seriously.)_

Days were smothered by an inattentive haze of exhausted terror. Nights were blurry lights of nightmares and hiding under too warm covers while gripping her knife.

Jeanmarie's hand slams down on the alarm as it _BEEP, BEEP, BEEP_ s too loudly, already awake since long ago. Rubbing at her eyes, feeling them squelch and burn in her sockets, she staggers into the bathroom. Gait unsteady and shoulders tense, she takes a moment to try and chase away the unending beat behind her temples by the doorway. No such luck. Turning on the faucet, she goes to splash her face and winces as she mistakenly sloshes the icy water straight into her eyes. Blinking blearily, she hurriedly shuts it down and pats around for a towel with a curse.

Hands finding the scratchy piece of cloth, she tips her face downwards, wiping away the water. Jeanmarie groans. "... Bad day, then. Great. Fucking great." Giving herself another second with her eyes closed, she unwillingly pulls away, mindlessly dropping the towel on the floor as she does so. The world gives a spin.

Checking the clock- _No luck, 10 minutes to get ready if she wants to get to school on time-_ She bolts towards her closet, mechanically pulling on the first fairly-clean uniform she can find. Grumbling, she runs a comb through messy as quickly as she can before moving on, almost missing the doorknob and narrowly avoiding faceplanting into the wall on the way out.

She nods off on the couch, TV incomprehensibly blaring news about a young girl who had been hit with a truck that day. Jerking up wildly and finding the clock once more, she snarls as she finds she's already twenty minutes past.

"God, fuck, Jesus Christ on a goddamn-" Frustration brims up in her head, jaw clenching as stress makes itself known again. Scratching at the back of her hand, Jeanmarie sits, stiff and glaring at the offensive time on the clock.

She cannot _handle this._

Jeanmarie grabs her bag and sprints out the door.

...

Head throbbing with a dull pound, she wandered the town, bag slung over her shoulder and gaze blurry. Yawning, she shook her head in an attempt to get rid of the fuzz permeating her skull. No dice. School was technically in right now, but Jeanmarie couldn't bear one more second of going over too-easy subjects and forcing her eyes open to stagnancy.

 _Actually, it ended, what, three seconds ago?_

She had taken to wandering the streets, half-asleep on her feet. _I'd pass out in class anyways, might as well spend the time doing something more useful. Exercise, or something._ She couldn't stay still, she'd conk out in seconds. Not ideal for someone trying to keep 24/7 watch for giant monsters that could crush her with a flick of their finger. Brushing away the niggling feeling of guilt (Why the hell does she still fucking _care)_ , she focused her thoughts on checking behind her for the fifth time.

Nothing.

Letting out a sigh of relief, turning the a corner to go left and narrowly avoiding the pole in front of her face. Swerving, she half-stumbled across to the other side of the street, near the shade. Feet becoming heavy as exhaustion caught up with her, she slumped onto the wall, closing her eyes as she rested her head. "Just let me have… a minute…" She muttered to herself, eyelids almost forcing themselves shut.

"... Nori?" A soft, careful voice, laced with surprise and maybe a tidbit of fear jarrs into her brain, bringing a cacophony of cymbals to her mind. Peeling back one eyelid, her gaze drags up slowly to meet-

 _Ah, that._

She blinks, staring at him for a minute before her brain actually registers what she's seeing, nose picking up a smell of cigarette smoke, and then a bit longer before her body catches up. Her mouth is open before she knows what to say. "... _Y…_ You." Jeanmarie swerves back into Japanese last minute. Glaring upwards darkly, she feels the familiar pounding in her ears return as blood rushes to her head, jaw clenching as she fights against the urge in her throat to snarl and bare her teeth. "Father. What do you _want_? Just go away." She jerks back up to her full height unsteadily, forcing her shoulders to uncurl themselves and square up aggressively.

(She feels something in the back of her mind stirring, waking, yelling, telling her to run away because this was blaring _dangerdangerdanger_ but the ache in her temples crowds the sound out too quickly to hear. All she wants is for him to _leave already go away leave me alone my head hurts why aren't you gone?)_

She grits her teeth in bubbling irritation as he seems to go through some interesting facial expressions, grinding them together as he does nothing but stare. "What!? Is there something on my face? If you don't have anything to say, leave me alone already, _Father_." Her voice pitches up in mockery of respect, arms crossed.

(What is she doing what is she thinking- _why are you making him angry don't)_

The quicker he got sick of her and left, the better. Jeanmarie watches with a hint of dark satisfaction as Isshin's face scrunches up in frustration and annoyance at her tone, raising an eyebrow at the other. "Nothing to say? Guess I'll just go." She snaps, turning around to leave.

"Wha-" Isshin splutters for a second, too shocked by the entirety of this encounter to register his own feelings completely, hand half reaching out towards the back of his daughter.

His daughter.

The first reaction (a flush of cold water being dumped over his head, _relief_ and _worry_ and _anger_ and _surprise why are you leaving again why are you trying to push me away why do you look so..._ ) leaves him stunned still for a second, before everything is tamped down, washed over by a bitterly clear realization that he's just watching her fade away-

"Nori!"

His hand is on her shoulder before he can stop himself, agitated at the thought of losing her again. _You're clearly not doing well, have you even been eating, should have taken care of yourself, and stay stay_ stay _Ichigo and Karin and Yuzu need their sister back_ _I need my_ daughter _back_ all rise up at the back of his throat and races through his chest in the second he catches her arm.

 _What are you running away from?_

 _Let me help you._

He's barely opened his mouth when she recoils like he's burned her with his hands, a jolt tearing her away as she whirls around. " _Don't touch me!"_ She snarls, spitting and bristling as her arms lift up in front of her face, "Do not ever touch me again, you-" Her voice cuts off, frustration so palpable it seems to clog her throat.

 _(Her bloodshot eyes are alight with hate and fear and he's sure that if looks could kill, he'd be nothing more than ashes._ )

A year, two years, all too long. She had just up and disappeared on them, leaving them all to just deal with her lost, gallivanting off into whatever sunset. _How could she?_ The voice, dark and bitterly soured, echoes around his head.

 _Is he even looking at his little girl anymore?_

Isshin can't. He doesn't know _what to do._ He can still feel the emptiness in the house, still so _vividly_ remember different shades of orange in a three-person group. He can still see them all happy, see that image in his mind's eye. It's _right there_ and yet drifting _farther_ and farther _away._

He's so _lost._

"... Nori." He sighs, deep and heavy and empty of breath, " _Please_." It's not exasperated, but rings with the tone of someone very, very tired.

(Looking at her, truly, he suddenly feels old and stooped and so, so heavy)

 _Masaki… If you can hear me up there, please…_

 _Help me._

 _I miss you._

Jeanmarie feels her jaws creak with the force she's exerting on them, as if the pressure will tamp down on the burning hole she feels in her chest. She hates this. Hateshateshateshates him and them and everything. Her brain is battering itself against her skull and her chest is tight from the squeezing of her ribs and she's so sure her lungs have filled with water and she's _drowning_ \- The agitation doesn't falter and neither does the stress, prickling up her chest and throat and racing agonizingly over her spine.

 _(I want to scream it out)_

The thought burns in the back of her mind, and she clenches her fists in an effort to keep her composure. Inhaling deeply, she squashes the kicking and screaming child dancing on her chest back down to her gut. She breathes out, turning to face Isshin fully. "No," She speaks flatly, blood pounding in her head.

His face contorts into the ideal picture of hurt, and it both grounds her and throws her off simultaneously, the psychological oxymoron biting down on itself. _See, it's not real, don't fall for this,_ and _guilty guilty why am I doing this_ flits around her head in chaos, breaking waves against the side of her head. There's a bubble of magma in her gut, knotting up hard enough it hurts, and it swells, bursts, coating her insides in a red-hot something that feels like anger and shame. " _What!?_ Are you looking for an invitation to leave?" She sneers, lips hurting with the force of her own grimace, "St-Stop looking at me like it's my fault!" _Why is she_ feeling _this?_ _It doesn't matter, it's not real, you_ have your own family. _Ignore this all, get back to your own, stop stop stop stop_ stop feeling shame ( _stop making me feel ashamed-)_

 _If only I can tear his eyes out,_ Jeanmarie remarks in her head, _then he'd stop_ staring _at me like that._

If only she could tear her own heart out, then maybe she'd be able to do it.

"...Nori?" A stunned voice carries along the breeze. It takes her a second to register the voice, and she whips her head around. Refocusing on the sight of bright orange spikes, she groans, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose. _Great, the day was getting better and_ better.

"What are you... What are you doing? Here?"

 _Fantastic._

* * *

 **Main storyline starting... well, probably really soon, with the truck accident n'all. I wanted to have some more bits about Isshin in here. I don't know, I see a lot of fanfics where he's lowkey jerk and also absent as heck, which is understandable since he's basically a side character. But I do like him, very much so.**

 **So, sleep deprivation. Probably not going to help her out much. At all. Her stability is... probably less than optimal? An understatement.**

 **Please Review~ Thank you for reading!**


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